This season of mists

Fall has always been my favorite season. I love the red and gold color of it, like flame, painted across the trees. The ink-slash of branches against a grey November sky. The scents of burning leaves and Bonfire Night, the crisp, mineral smell of the earth, and the dust of leaf-mould. The tastes of apple and caramel and spice and richness. The cold air that flushes cheeks, the certain slant of light that turns a neighborhood street into a cathedral window. The reminder that things end, that beauty is transience, and that we cannot find ourselves in the light unless we walk into the dark.